


Whose Woods These Are

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fix-it fic, Pre-Relationship, fix-it SOMEBODY ANYBODY, fix-it jesus, fix-it satan, oddly slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: A story of the summers shared between Ada and Hecate.[Basically a fix-it fic for the trainwreck of season three]





	1. The Darkest Evening of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, major spoilers for Season Three.
> 
> I just...I have a lot of feelings about Hecate Hardbroom, a woman previously shown in canon as being extremely clever and forceful and brilliant at manipulating situations to her benefit, being shunted into the role of hapless helpless victim. And about Ada Cackle, a woman previously shown as kind and compassionate above all other traits, to be held responsible for this victimhood, in a way. This is my attempt to weld that canon characterization into a now-canon confinement situation.
> 
> Also this story kind of got away from my original vision but I'm a sucker for a slow burn so here we are.
> 
> Also also: the title and all chapter titles are from Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening."

Just before summer half-term, Ada began to notice that Miss Hardbroom became on-edge. Last year she had noticed the same thing, but only in passing—of course, last year, they had barely known each other, and Ada had assumed the woman was just exhausted because it was end of term and slightly overwhelmed by all the activity that entailed.

This year, however, they were closer. Friends, Ada liked to think. Though sometimes Hecate made it hard to tell. Some mornings, she would be as cool as ever at the breakfast table, as if she’d only met Ada yesterday and still wasn’t sure of her name. Some days, she graced Ada’s greetings with a smile of her own. And when the reticent potions mistress did engage in a faculty-room debate, she generally agreed with Ada’s position. There had even been a few (extremely rare) late night talks in the comfy chairs tucked away in the corner of the staff lounge—Hecate had been surprisingly loquacious during those moments, and had even laughed, once, at a joke Ada had made. It was still a point of pride, on Ada’s part.

And because they were friends ( _possibly, probably, most likely_ ), Ada saw the subtle shifts in Hecate Hardbroom’s demeanor. The way she seemed to constantly rattle with frenetic energy. The way she jumped every time there was a loud sound, her reactions even more overblown than usual. The glassy look in her eye, when she glanced up at Ada during breakfast. The way she no longer seemed to wait for Ada in the staff lounge in the evenings, almost as if she were avoiding the blonde.

Ada tried to oh-so-casually mention it to her mother, but Alma gave a sniff and a curt shake of her head.

“Leave her be.” Alma used her headmistress tone. A command, no refusals expected or offered.

Ada was struck with how…almost protective Alma seemed, in that moment. Obviously, Alma Cackle probably knew the most about Miss Hardbroom, having known her since her first year at Cackle’s as a student. Ada warred between the undying curiosity to know and the desire to respect her friend’s privacy.

Because Hecate was definitely a deeply private person. She’d been a teacher at the Academy for nearly six years now—Ada herself, now deputy headmistress, had only been back for three years, and just in the past eight months she had truly developed a rapport with the younger woman. Truth be told, even that most likely wouldn’t have happened if the fourth years hadn’t accidentally summoned a vengeful spirit to haunt the castle at Halloween, and she and Hecate had been somehow forced together during the removal process. Ada had been impressed by her coolness under fire and surprised by her dour sense of humor throughout. Once the ghoul had been taken care of, they settled into a comfortable routine of friendship.

Except the routine was currently being disrupted.

The final bell rang out, signaling the end of the day’s classes, and the halls filled with chattering teenagers and bouncing little first years. Ada waited at her own classroom’s entrance, keeping a keen eye on the door twenty feet down—the potions lab. Sometimes Hecate actually chose to walk to her destination, and Ada might could catch her.

Oh, lucky day. The prim potions mistress appeared, giving a long scowl at a particularly rambunctious group of passing girls, who immediately lowered their volume. Her gaze followed the girls, shifting slightly to Ada. The blonde felt a prick at the sensation, rising up on her toes just a little (as one does when seeing a dear friend, of course).

Now that eye contact had been made, Hecate was forced to remain in place as Miss Cackle wove through the sea of nattering students towards her. She flexed her fingers in discomfort, already feeling the prickle of sweat on her palms.

She liked Ada, she did. The woman was unendingly kind. Smart, with a sharp wit to boot. And when Hecate prattled on about this potion or that method, she seemed genuinely interested—Hecate didn’t feel like an idiot, when she spoke, didn’t feel like she needed to stop herself, to keep from tiring out her listener or otherwise looking a fool. It was…different. Unexpected. _Nice_.

But right now, she couldn’t stand to be around her.

Not that Ada had done anything. No, it was simply _that time of year_ was coming.

Summer. Half-term. Memories of the tall grass swaying, slapping against her calves as she rushed after Indigo. Tugging at her skirt, pulling her back. Slowing her down. Stopping her from saving Indie.

Indie’s laugh, lilting and high on the breeze, too far and too fast for Joy. Too terrifyingly powerful.

Joy’s lungs burning, heart pounding as she pleaded for Indigo to stop, just stop, please.

The woods, quiet and cool, heavy with the scent of decaying leaves and summer berry blossoms. Life and vibrant death, always together.

The awful, awful, gut-clenching, nightmare-inducing sound of crunching crackling stone, taking over Indie’s body.

The full weight of what she had done.

The death she witnessed before her eyes, entirely her own doing.

Hecate curled her hands into fists, letting the sharp dig of her nails into her palms ground her in the present moment. _Stay focused, Hecate._

She could feel the sweat forming on her top lip. She found herself smiling back at Ada, though she had no idea how she could possibly do that, when her stomach was churning and clenching with dread.

It had been a mistake, allowing Miss Cackle to befriend her. Ada was too smart, too keen, too able to read people. She’d look at Hecate and she’d know. She’d look and she’d see and she would despise what she saw, with good reason.

“Cup of tea?” Ada offered lightly, tilting her head slightly in the direction of the staff lounge. “To celebrate another week survived?”

Hecate let out a small sigh of relief at the question. Goddess, did she want to say yes. To do nothing more than settle into their usual chairs and drink their usual Friday afternoon tea and have their usual chat about absolutely anything and nothing.

“I’ve…got quite a lot of things to sort in the potions storeroom,” Hecate shifted back, angling her body slightly away from Ada. She didn’t like lying to the woman, didn’t like the way her expression fell, just slightly, just almost-too-quickly-to-be-seen, but it was better than the alternative, Hecate decided.

Once the term was over, Hecate could take her yearly visit to Indigo, clean off any new vines or lichen that had grown, and quietly expiate her sins, once again. She never asked for forgiveness, even though Indie would have given it.

“Perhaps I could help you?” Ada wasn’t going down without a fight. She arched a brow in hopeful playfulness. “Two sets of hands are better than one, right?”

Well, bats. Hecate looked away, pressing her lips together. She knew that her actions were only confusing Ada, only causing more questions. _Just try to act normal for once in your life, Hecate_.

“I suppose you’re right,” she finally answered, turning curtly on her heel and heading to the storeroom. She could hear Ada’s hesitant steps behind her, could hear the uncomfortable uncertainty in every shuffle, and her chest tightened. No, she couldn’t do that to Ada. Not to the only person who had genuinely tried to reach beyond the oh-so-carefully constructed defenses.

Ada clasped her hands together tightly, not sure if she really should follow through with this or make up some blatantly-obvious excuse to dismiss herself from Hecate’s company. She felt like she was pushing herself on the younger woman, and it wasn’t a welcome feeling.

But then Hecate stopped in a quick half-step. She didn’t turn around, simply waiting for Ada to catch up. Ada felt a rush of relief at the small action. Hecate wanted her here. That was a good sign, a good start.

They continued the rest of the way in silence. Once they reached the storeroom, Hecate gave Ada basic instructions on her personal filing system (an odd but highly intuitive layout, Ada thought) and they set about their respective tasks, washing empty vials, refilling them, and organizing the bottles accordingly.

Hecate felt easier. Her hands were busy, performing mindless tasks she’d done a hundred times now. Ada was nearby but not looking directly at her, not reading every single nuance of her expression. Her mind mulled over the ways she’d distanced herself over the past week, how confused she must have made Ada feel, how unwanted.

She knew the feeling of being unwanted. She’d never wish it on her greatest enemy, much less her only friend.

She would have to be kinder to Ada, in the future. The woman deserved no less.

* * *

By the next year, Ada wasn’t surprised when term came to a close and Hecate once more became a cat, slipping away and distancing herself again. But there was an entire year of friendship added between them, and Ada felt safer in the way that she approached the younger woman. She simply continued on—once even going so far as to bring Hecate a cup of tea to her potions lab door, when it became obvious that the woman was not going to grace the staff lounge with her presence. And though Hecate absolutely insisted that they drink the tea in the hallway ( _no food or drink in the lab, Miss Cackle_ ), Ada could have sworn she detected the slightest hint of a smile when Hecate took her first sip. And she definitely noticed that the tension in Hecate’s shoulders lessened, just a bit.

Still, Ada couldn’t deny the slight sting she felt at Hecate’s obvious withdrawal.

* * *

During the third year of their friendship, Miss Gwen Bat rejoined the staff, having taken a hiatus to give another tour around Europe as Esper Vespertilio. Something about her arrival made Hecate skittish for several weeks, and Ada felt a deepening suspicion that it was connected to Hecate’s summer half-term behavior.

Alma remained tight-lipped on the matter.

So when the final student took to the skies to return home for the summer, Ada felt a familiar tug at the way Hecate turned back to the Academy.

“Miss Hardbroom?” She spoke too quickly, moved too suddenly, and Hecate jumped in response. It was so expected now that Ada felt a wash of guilt but didn’t apologize—she had learned that apologizing and bringing attention to Hecate’s nerves only worsened the situation.

Hecate turned slowly back to her, fingers flexing and flinching in the way they always did when she was trying to marshal herself back into some form of stoicism.

“Yes, Miss Cackle?” Hecate prided herself on how nonchalant she sounded, though dread pounded in her stomach like a war drum.

“Would you join me for a turn around the gardens?” Ada held her breath as she waited, watching the way Hecate squinted in the distance, mentally weighing the idea in her mind as if it were some kind of agreement that might cost her soul.

“I suppose I have time,” the younger woman offered, after a pause. She fell into easy pace beside Ada as they made their way around the castle, down the meandering paths of blooming roses. She noticed the way Ada clasped and unclasped her hands, could feel the question that pushed against Ada’s lungs and how the blonde physically tried to restrain it.

Oh, she should have cut off this friendship with Ada years ago. The woman was too close, too close to Hecate, to Joy, to all the things she wanted to confess, to unburden, to share.

Pippa had been like that. Goddess, it had been almost fifteen years since she’d even seen Pippa. Kind and caring and searching, her fingers accidentally slipping into Hecate’s wounds, jolting her with white-hot pain in ways that Pippa had never even realized. And Pippa wouldn’t have been that way, if Hecate had told her. Pippa would have avoided those topics, would have learned not to ask those questions or say those things that triggered the memories. But Hecate had been scared, and scarred. It had been too soon, still too terrifying and traumatic.

One night they’d stayed up until dawn, ostensibly to cram for some test that had been forgotten by midnight, as Pippa had played with her hair and they talked about anything and everything, lying side by side in Hecate’s bed as they sent little sparks of light bouncing around the rafters. And then, just before dawn, Hecate had almost confessed. Had almost told Pippa everything, all the things that had happened that summer. Had ached with how much she wanted to share this truth, to reveal herself completely.

Hecate had realized just how dangerous Pippa had become, in that moment. And she fled, fled like the coward that she was, without explanation. Had made excuses for herself, had convinced herself that it was for the best, for both of them.

Since then, she had learned to keep her acquaintances short and her words brief. Had learned that friends were complications and walls were rather easy to build.

But she had forgotten those hard-won lessons, somehow. Ada had made her forget, made her _want_ to forget. Ada, who was brilliant and kind and capable and currently about to ruin it all between them with a question.

She felt the shift in Ada’s shoulders, could physically see the tightness in Ada’s chest as the blonde prepared to finally speak.

To ask the question. Hecate’s stomach roiled at the thought. The sweat breaking across her skin wasn’t from the heat. She took a small, shallow breath, trying not to get sick.

And then, something in Ada’s demeanor changed. Like a lock clicking into place, Hecate could almost _hear_ the shift. A basket appeared in Ada’s grip, along with gardening gloves and shears.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” Her words were little more than a whisper as she pulled on the gloves, nodding towards the fluffy white and pink roses. “I think they’d look rather nice at the entry way table, don’t you think?”

Hecate’s opinion on the matter was pointless, but she understood that the blonde was trying to distract her. Hecate felt a small ripple of relief.

Because in the frightful heart-pounding moments in which she’d awaited Ada’s question, her throat had filled with bile at the realization that if Ada asked, she would answer.

She couldn’t lie to Ada. Didn’t _want_ to lie to Ada.

That revelation was the most frightening part of this entire encounter.

But Ada hadn’t asked. Ada had wanted to, naturally curious thing that she was, kind and caring thing that she was.

Hecate felt a burble of gratitude in her chest as she quietly called forth another set of shears and gloves into her hands. As an afterthought, she summoned Ada’s wide brimmed hat, along with her own. She offered the hat to Ada with a small smile, which Ada returned.

They continued until the basket was full. In the end, they actually had too many roses for the vase in the foyer. Ada decided they should split the rest and each have some for their private rooms. Ada handed her the small bouquet with a little flourish, and Hecate couldn't help but smile at her antics.

No one had given Hecate flowers before.

* * *

When Ada returned from her summer holiday in Finland, she found Miss Hardbroom to be much more relaxed, intently focused on her lesson plans for the next term. School began and they slipped back into their usual habits of friendship. Another year rolled around quite quickly, and soon Ada felt the odd shifting again. This time, it seemed a little easier on Hecate.

She didn’t ask. She didn’t act as if anything were different.

But this year, she didn’t take her usual time away from the Academy. She stayed, and found that Hecate slowly let their term-time traditions mute into half-term habits as well.

Ada took it as a good sign.

* * *

The following Yuletide, Ada invited Hecate to a popular holiday festival, a few towns away. Hecate felt her lungs snap shut. Quickly, she declined, feeling more than a small pang of regret for the way Ada’s face fell at her answer. Of course, Ada hid her disappointment behind a sunny smile, but those blue eyes weren’t sparkling any more.

Hecate realized that this would become a common scene, if she didn’t tell Ada the truth. She couldn’t have Ada feeling this way, thinking that her refusal came from a place of not wanting Ada’s company. It wasn’t right.

She told herself that she would wait until an appropriate time. The holidays rushed and sparkled around them, and by the time spring term began, Hecate had convinced herself not to have the discussion until summer. It just seemed logical—if there were any issues between them afterwards, at least it would be when Ada could leave for a while, when they weren’t surrounded by students and staff.

All too soon, summer half-term arrived.

* * *

As was custom, the staff held a celebratory dinner the first night of half-term. The few girls who would remain over summer holidays were away on a weekend trip, so it was one of the few times that it was truly just adults in the castle. Everyone stayed around the table, regaling each other with hilarious misadventures throughout the year, occasionally toasting to another term survived.

Finally, everyone began to quietly drift away from the dinner table. Hecate gathered her courage, leaned in and quietly asked, “A nightcap, Miss Cackle? In the lounge?”

Ada agreed, slightly surprised. Hecate generally didn’t seek her company this time of year—in fact, they’d already gone a whole three weeks without a single shared teatime. For whatever reason, Hecate had seemed particularly anxious this year, and Ada had tried to give her as much space as possible, all the while worrying and hoping she’d made the right decision.

Hecate had only drunk water during the toasts. She had committed to a plan of action, and she couldn’t let anything derail it. Still, once they reached the lounge, she allowed herself a glass of sherry. She would savor every aspect of this moment, she decided. She would sit with Ada, would let everything feel normal, just for one night more.

It was only one glass, but she still felt the effects—the rushing tumbling urges that often rose up when she drank too much. A desire to dance, to laugh, to run to the tallest tower and scream just because she _could_ , because it felt _good_.

But she was thirty-one years old now. Nearly two decades away from the girl who would have done those things in a heartbeat, without any alcoholic prompting.

Almost twenty years. What an awfully long and lonely time. Hecate chewed her bottom lip, swirling the last bit of sherry at the bottom of the glass. Ada noticed, Ada watched with quiet eyes and aching heart, wishing she could ease whatever burden her best friend currently carried alone.

Best friend. Yes, she hadn’t really thought about it before, but Hecate Hardbroom was her best friend. For seven years now, Ada had been basically sequestered at the Academy, the place she swore never to return—and for nearly four of those years, she had shared her thoughts and feelings and joys and frustrations with this woman.

So many of her friends from outside the Academy had drifted away, wrapped up in their children or their careers or a mixture of both. Ada never begrudged them—after all, her own life was exhaustingly overwhelming, most of the time. It was the way of things. And if she were being honest, Hecate understood her better. Hecate understood the unique factors of their life, she understood any frustrations or amusements their coworkers might provide. And when Ada sometimes spoke of regretful childhood choices or feeling trapped in her destiny as the next headmistress, or even her deep desire to see Agatha again, Hecate always nodded, the corners of her eyes tensing with pained empathy. Not sympathy, that emotion of secondhand sadness for another’s plight, but _empathy_ , the deep pull of personal understanding.

Not for the first time, Ada realized that she had shared far more of her life than Hecate had. It wasn’t that Hecate didn’t share parts of her life with Ada—it was just that the woman tended to focus on the here and now. She wasn’t one for wallowing in the past, it seemed.

Tonight was proving itself a rare exception. Hecate had become rather nostalgic.

“Do you remember,” she frowned slightly, her expression taking on the adorable confusion that often came when she was drunk, Ada knew now. “Do you remember, back when we were ghost-hunting, and the spirit flooded the basement?”

Ada hummed, “Of course. I thought we were done for.”

The basements had been locked against transfer spells, in a successful attempt to keep the spirit contained to one general location. When Hecate and Ada had gone down to fully remove it from the castle, the poltergeist had barricaded them in by placing large storage trunks against a store room door and filling the room with water.

Hecate gave a low chuckle of agreement. She paused, corners of her mouth curling downward as she focused intently on her sherry glass.

“I thought…in that moment, when I thought we were going to die, I thought—well, if this had to be the moment, you were a rather nice person to die with.”

Ada wanted to laugh, but then she realized that Hecate was being honest, in her endearingly strange way.

Now Hecate looked up at her, eyes shining lightly, “You kept making jokes, and you were so…calm, and I thought, _at least I won’t be alone, and neither will she, in the end_.”

She looked away again, blushing slightly at her own ridiculousness. She should stop talking, she knew, but she knew she would regret never saying these things even more.

“I guess I just wanted to—thank you, that’s what I want to say, I suppose.” She looked down at her hands, quickly drained the remains of her sherry, and rose to her feet.

“Hecate,” Ada felt a sudden rush, an impulse without name or description. She just knew that Hecate was leaving and she didn’t want her to. “I’m—that was very lovely. I’m just not sure what you’re thanking me for, exactly?”

The younger woman gave a syrupy smile. For some reason, she looked as if she were about to cry. “For being you, Ada.”

Hecate said goodnight and left, her smile still lingering on Ada’s skin like a poultice, heavy and unbreathing.

Hours later, when Ada settled into her bed, she realized why. The unnameable emotion finally revealed itself, the dread that had been quietly but insistently pacing at the corners of her mind.

It felt as if Hecate Hardbroom was saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, wouldn't it be fun to have a fic about the ghost-hunting incident alluded to in this chapter? Never fear, it's on my ever-expanding WIP list.


	2. The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Ada’s uneasiness only intensified the next morning, when Hecate did not attend breakfast. She tried to convince herself that she was being silly, over-emotional from an exhausting term. She busied herself with revamping her classroom.

A few hours into her endeavors, she heard a light rap on the open door and turned to see Hecate Hardbroom waiting in the frame, face paler than usual but still graced with a light smile.

 _Where have you been?_ She wanted to ask. Instead, she simply said, “Hello, you.”

Hecate opened her mouth to respond, then quickly shut it. Ada felt her throat tighten in concern. After a beat, the younger woman finally spoke, “I have—are you free, for a walk, now? I just…I think I’d like to show you something.”

“Of course,” Ada returned simply, her blood beginning to hum in a mixture of curiosity and dread.

They didn’t go to the gardens, as Ada had expected. They walked across the green, through the gates, down the footpath and across the open field. At this point, Ada was thoroughly confused. They didn’t speak at all, and Hecate seemed so tense that Ada feared a word might shatter her completely.

Hecate kept her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles screamed in agony at the constant pressure, but she didn’t let up, not for a single second. It was the only thing keeping her from becoming a shaking mess, and she didn’t want to disturb Ada any more than her current cloak-and-dagger theatrics already had. She wanted to reassure the blonde, to tell her that everything was alright—but again, she found that she couldn’t lie to Ada.

Also, she still needed to time to think. She hadn’t slept the night before, agonizing over her decision and then attempting to prepare for what must be done, now that she’d made it.

 _There’s still time_ , a voice whispered in her head. _You can go back, never tell her, never let her know._

But she knew that wasn’t true. They were on a collision course, beyond changing paths or retreating.

It would have been easier, just transferring to the site. But this was part of Hecate’s ritual, too. Recreating the race they ran, their last moments together, the path she created through the tall grass as she cried for Indie to stop, to wait, to just _please_.

Prolonging the inevitable.

Just like she was doing with Ada.

Because there was no pretending, after this. No escaping the way they would shift under the weight of shared knowledge. Hecate had finally accepted this, and knew it was time. After all, Alma had begun to talk of retirement—Ada would know, soon enough, and Hecate wanted this story told on her own terms. It was hers, after all.

Ada’s skin began to prickle with sweat as they continued across the field. The late afternoon sun only grew stronger, not helping the curdling in her stomach as Hecate’s anxiety rose, visible in the set of her shoulders and the tightness of her fists.

They reached the treeline and Hecate stopped fully, taking a full beat before taking another step. Her fingers finally flexed and fluttered, and Ada knew that whatever happened next, it would not be pleasant.

Hecate took a deep breath, her throat clenching unpleasantly. Yes, she would be sick, she knew it. Her breaths were quick and shallow, like a dying cat. She clenched her fists again, the flesh of her palms screaming in agony.

She moved further away from Ada, kept her back firmly to the blonde as she lifted the spell hiding the statue from the rest of the world.

 _Indigo_. It was odd, the spell kept her invisible, but it didn’t actually stop the forest from trying to claim her. Creeping vines whorled up her legs, as if rooting her to the spot. Lichen grew on her shoulders, the top of her hood. Hecate instinctively reached forth, delicately picking a fallen leaf from Indigo’s shoulder.

“I need to tell you a story,” she pushed the words out of her throat, despite its attempts to stop her, its painful tightness and the way her tongue seemed to swell.

“I’m listening.” Ada didn’t know what else to say, to do, but she knew that she needed Hecate to know that she was here, wherever _here_ was.

Hecate gave a small, quick nod. She tried to organize her thoughts over the pounding in her head, tried to remember the speech she’d rehearsed most of the night before, as she’d paced and planned and prayed.

“I was a student here, you know,” she began. Of course Ada knew this—Miss Bat had made an off-hand comment once, thankfully the woman hadn’t gone into too great of detail. “And I was…headstrong. Reckless.”

Ada tried to reconcile this with the Hecate Hardbroom that she knew. Had Hecate seemed less tense, she probably would have smiled at the thought of young Hecate as a troublemaker.

“And I went out. Out there,” Hecate nodded deeper into the woods, to the world beyond. “It seemed harmless. After all, no one could see us.”

There was a small noise—Hecate couldn't tell if Ada was shocked or agreeing. Hecate wanted to turn around, to see her friend’s face, but she found herself frozen. The irony of feeling this way, while standing next to Indigo, was not lost on her.

“At least…no one saw me until the day I met Indigo Moon.” Hecate’s heart clenched at the memory, at the shock of realizing she had been seen. The secondary rush of feeling…special. Powerful enough to somehow break through a barrier. To finally be able to truly interact with some form of that world.

The dread in Ada’s veins continued to build. She couldn’t see the front of the statue, but something told her that if she walked around, she’d see a young girl’s face. She took a deep breath and waited for Hecate to continue.

“She was my dearest friend. We promised to be together, always,” Hecate reached out again, lightly brushing off more debris from Indigo’s stone cloak. She’d kept that promise, as best she could. “And then the teachers found out.”

Ada was going to be sick. She knew her mother, what she was capable of—Agatha’s story flashed before her eyes, a twisted tale still being written, even now, that all began with her mother’s totalitarian outlook.

“I was bound to the Academy, for the remainder of my time at Cackle’s,” Hecate pushed herself to get it all out, get it over with. “It was the only way I was allowed to stay, you see—if I could guarantee that I would never make such a foolish decision again. My parents were incensed, as they rightly should have been. My confinement was to be during the term only, but they…thought I needed a half-term to stay and reflect on my actions. To truly understand what I had done. So I stayed. And that summer, I was so lonely that I…I brought her here. To Cackle’s. To our world.”

Ada wanted to say something, but her mind was an absolute blank. She knew all the rules, all the edicts against crossing the worlds, against giving magic to nonmagical beings.

Hecate was still turned away from her, but Ada could see the way the younger woman’s shoulders hitched and shook, her head tilting downward. Still, Hecate forged on bravely, and Ada felt a measure of admiration for her courage.

“She—it wasn’t immediate, but it didn’t take long for the magic to change her. She became unpredictable, destructive—it was chaos, Ada, absolute chaos. And I tried to make her stop, but she wouldn’t—she couldn’t—she wasn’t herself anymore. She was…beyond reach.” Hecate’s left hand came to cover her face, as if she could somehow shield herself from the memory, somehow hide her shame. She'd rehearsed this story a dozen times, but now nerves destroyed her ability to remember the order, to remember the lines. She hadn't realized that finally telling the story again would bring all of those feelings rushing to the surface, as if it were happening anew. But she had to finish. “She raced out here, like some kind of—she was going to make the school disappear. She was going to make it all disappear, and I was so—I was terrified, and then, suddenly…”

There were no words. Just a helpless flop of her hand in the stone’s direction. And even though Ada had guessed this ending, her body tensed under the shock of hearing it confirmed.

Several beats of awful silence followed, before Hecate continued, her voice stronger, harder, “I did learn my lesson, and I never let myself be so reckless again.”

Too much was missing from this story. Ada cleared her throat, gently asking, “Hecate, what did—what aren’t you telling me?”

Hecate ducked her head again, fists clenching as she summoned more courage. “Alma found out, eventually. She had no choice but to bring me to the Great Wizard.”

 _No choice._ Ada was sure her mother had told Hecate that, what an awful lie.

“And he…decided that I could keep my magic.” The grateful note in Hecate’s tone was enough to break Ada’s heart all over again. “But I was confined to the Academy and its grounds indefinitely. Until I could prove my penitence.”

Ada clutched her stomach. She would be sick, here and now. Her head swam. She heard her own voice, though it seemed disembodied as she weakly asked, “Hecate—what does that even mean? Prove how? Are you—please tell me you’re not—”

She fumbled, her breath too shallow to allow her words to continue.

Now Hecate turned back to her slowly, as if every single shift hurt. Her face held the truth—broken and fearful and aching.

Ada was giving small, shivering breaths into her hands, which had somehow become clasped over her face. No. No, this wasn’t true.

“Hecate, I’m so sorry.” Her words were muffled by her hands. She couldn’t move them. Couldn’t stop her own body from shaking.

“Ada—Ada, please,” Hecate was moving forward, moving back to her friend. “It’s—please, don’t. It’s—”

“Terrible. It’s terrible,” the blonde finished for her. Goddess, it had been decades since Agatha had been sent away, shipped off to Wormwoods, but the rage and bile came back just as if it were yesterday. Her mother, leaving more destroyed lives in her wake.

“Ada, let me finish, please,” Hecate’s hands were on Ada’s shoulders now, grounding her. There was an odd uneasiness still dancing at the corner of her eyes. She was still sizing Ada up, still searching for something.

Ada took a deep breath and simply nodded. She willed herself to stand a little straighter, to silently reassure Hecate that she was still here, still alright.

“There is…a reason that I haven’t proven my penitence,” Hecate began gently. Ada’s eyes were wide with curiosity. The younger woman removed her grip from Ada’s shoulders, taking a half-step back. “Our previous Great Wizard was a pragmatic man, I grant him that.”

Knowing Hecate Hardbroom’s dislike of men in general, Ada felt this was rather high praise.

Hecate crossed her arms over her chest and looked back at the statue, the pain etching the corners of her eyes unmistakable. “He offered me a bargain, after my first decade here. I think he waited so long because he truly thought that by then I’d be…willing to accept his offer.”

“Which was?” Ada felt her lungs tighten, all too well-aware of how Draconian the previous Great Wizard was—the newly-installed Mr. Hellibore looked like a flighty, thoroughly-modern sap in comparison.

“I could have my confinement lifted, if I gave him Indigo.” Hecate’s mouth twitched as she gave a curt shake of her head, “Your mother had asked the same thing of me, when it first happened. And even then, even as a child, I had known no good would come of it. I had already learned an invisibility spell to shield her from being found by any other students. And after Alma’s questions, I quickly learned more—no one else can locate her or call her forth from this place, except myself. Not even the Great Wizard can compel her. And even _he_ can’t compel me to reveal her.”

There was a beat of heavy silence as Ada digested the story and Hecate simply stared at the back of Indigo’s stone cloak.

“Hecate,” Ada’s voice was soft, lined with compassion. Quietly, she admitted, “Hecate, I don’t know what to say.”

Hecate ducked her head slightly in understanding. Her arms were still crossed; her fingers dug into her upper arms to steel herself. “You don’t have to say anything. I just…you would have known, soon enough. And I wanted it to be done on my own terms. I don’t want your pity, Ada, I’d rather go back to feeling invisible than being seen as an object of pity.”

“I don’t—I’m not pitying you,” Ada said gently, though it was a lie, on some level. It was true, her heart ached for the young girl who had been betrayed by the woman sworn to protect her, the child abandoned by her family and pushed to such deep loneliness that she went to such desperate lengths to have a friend. “But it is a lot to take in and I—I am your friend, Hecate, I’m _appalled_ for you. You were just a child, you were at the mercy of so many—”

“I’m not helpless,” Hecate stated, her tone clear. Her dark eyes flicked back to the blonde, the determination in them unmistakable. “Yes, there were many things beyond my control, and many decisions made over my fate by people with more power than I will ever have. But I have beaten them at their own game.”

She saw the confusion in Ada’s face. She took a step forward, her voice becoming thick with emotion, “As long as I am bound, no one can make me leave.”

Another wave of confusion washed over Ada, “Hecate, I don’t understand—”

“Ada, I am safe. No one can force me to leave, to abandon her,” Hecate shifted slightly, looking back over her shoulder at Indigo. She looked back to the blonde, her eyes glistening with tears. “I made a promise. She is confined as well—and though it was not my fault, it _is_ my responsibility to care for her, now. To uphold my word. So I stay. Here. With her.”

This was something Ada understood better than most. The need to hold vigil, to hold on to hope beyond all reason, beyond the determination of most. In her own way, she’d done the same with her sister. Ada gave a small, curt nod, unsure of what to say but wanting Hecate to know that she understood, that she’d keep her secret, that Hecate had been right in trusting her.

Hecate shifted away again, the leaves on the forest floor eddying in little circles as the heavy hem of her skirt swished past. She stood before the statue again, taking a moment to simply look at the stone face. Sometimes, she actually forgot what Indie looked like. The image was still there, but it wasn’t as clear as before. Hazy, half-altered by time and memory. Sometimes, she looked at the stone and thought it looked nothing like the vibrant girl she loved and lost. She let her fingertips trace the outline of those frozen features. Quietly, she added, “I made it right, in the end. As much as I could.”

Ada wasn’t sure if Hecate was talking to her, herself, or the statue of her lost friend. Perhaps it didn’t matter, not really.

“So,” Hecate did a little half about-face, shoulders straightening once more. With a curt nod, she said, “Now you know.”

Ada could sense that Hecate was waiting for something—condemnation or commiseration or _something_ , she wasn’t sure what and she wasn’t sure that Hecate knew, either.

“Now I know,” Ada repeated quietly. She saw the wariness in Hecate’s face, the uncertainty—she moved without thinking, without considering her actions at all.

It wasn’t until Ada’s arms were fully wrapped around her that Hecate felt the full shock of the moment. They had been friends for several years now but they’d certainly never hugged before.

Ada felt the stiffness of Hecate’s body slowly melt as she returned the embrace. Ada still couldn’t believe she’d done such a brash thing—Hecate Hardbroom was certainly not one for physical displays of affection, and Ada realized in hindsight that her actions could have had disastrous consequences.

But for now, it was nice. She felt Hecate’s chin burrow into her shoulder, felt the long, deep grateful breath that Hecate took, and she squeezed the younger woman, just a little tighter.

“Thank you,” Ada finally said, simply.

“For what?” Hecate made no move to disengage from the hug.

“For trusting me.”

Hecate gave a small hum of understanding. Now she took a small step back, removing herself from Ada’s embrace. Ada watched her, blue eyes filled with seriousness as she added, “And I hope you will continue to trust me—I hope that once I am headmistress, you will let me undo the spell. I hope you will be able to trust that I would never dismiss you from the school or otherwise try to harm Indigo.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” was Hecate’s only response. She turned back to the statue, slowly lowering to her knees to uproot the vines around Indigo’s ankles. “I never would have shown you where she is, if I didn’t believe that wholeheartedly.”

Those simple words filled Ada with a quiet joy. Hecate glanced up. A tiny, grateful smile flickered across her face, gone before Ada could even fully swear that it was ever there. Something shifted in the younger witch’s demeanor, and Ada understood that the tale was finally over.

“May I help you?” Ada motioned to the statue, which Hecate was currently de-weeding.

Hecate sat back for a moment, truly considering the question. “No, I think I would prefer to do it myself.”

She felt Ada’s small step back, felt the blonde retreating, and she quickly added, “But I wouldn’t mind having someone to keep me company while I did it.”

Ada gave a small sound of understanding. She found a comfortable place to sit on the ground a few feet away, crossing her legs and smiling softly at the way the tension left Hecate’s shoulders. She understood that she had been entrusted with so much this afternoon, and she made a small promise in her heart to always be worthy of such trust.

Normally Hecate would chafe at the idea of someone watching her as she worked, but there was something…comforting about being seen by Ada. Perhaps because in this moment, she felt truly seen, in ways that she hadn’t in a very long time. She didn’t feel judged or condemned or pitied or anything beyond simply understood.

For the first time in nearly twenty years, she left those woods with a lighter heart.


	3. Promises to Keep

That evening, Ada was required to attend the weekly overview in her mother’s office. She found herself shaking at the thought, unsure she could truly be in the same room as the woman who’d allowed this to happen.

But Ada didn’t round on her mother as soon as she saw her—only because Hecate had made her promise not to. There had been two things that Hecate asked of Ada: not to bring the subject up with Alma, and never to ask about Hecate's own parents again.

Ada found that she didn’t have to say anything to her mother. Alma took one look at her face and instantly knew.

“So she’s told you, then.”

Something about Alma’s tone only fueled the burning in Ada’s chest.

“Out of sheer curiosity, how were _you_ going to tell me, when the time came?” She set her hands on her hips, cocking her head to one side in mock interest. “ _Here’s the keys to the school—oh and by the way, here’s our friendly neighborhood prisoner?_ ”

Alma’s face set in a familiar look of disapproval (thankfully Ada had long been immune to such a look). “She is a prisoner of her own choosing—”

“And her only other choice is to give you the ability to do goddess-only-knows-what to a child—”

“A _statue_ , Ada. A monument to a devastating mistake that put our entire world at risk,” Alma’s words were quick and cutting, more vehement than Ada had ever heard before. “I realize it’s hard to see past those big brown eyes and that breathy little innocent act she put on for you, no doubt—”

Ada cut her off with a hard smack of her hands upon the desk. The implications of her mother’s words were enough to make her scream, but she held back—Alma always used Ada’s emotion as a weapon against her, citing it as a reason that she wasn’t ready to become headmistress, using it as part of her own justification, as if being logical and detached was the same as being right.

She wanted to refute the claim. To inform her mother that Hecate hadn’t played the victim or the innocent—no, she’d been strong and adamant, had been an absolute flame of courage, would rather have died a thousand deaths than be seen as the picture Alma had just painted. But she took that anger and used it to push her voice lower, to a tone too serious to be denied.

“Do you know the most pathetic part of this entire story? It’s that after all these years, you haven’t learned a damn thing. One would think that after what happened to your own child, you’d realize how ineffective extremism is. But you’ve learned nothing. You’ve wasted an entire life, sitting in exactly the same place.”

Alma blinked, once, and Ada felt a measure of pride in how long it took her to finally respond.

“You’ll understand, one day,” Alma’s voice was quiet and filled with conviction. “You’ll sit behind this desk and realize how foolish you’ve been to think otherwise.”

Again, Ada made another promise to herself—she’d never let her mother’s prophecy come true, if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Ada should have known that her mother would retaliate, in some way. Within two days, Egbert Hellibore, the new Great Wizard, was seated in Alma Cackle’s office, at her very desk. Alma stood over his shoulder, with Ada standing beside her. Though Ada felt sick at the thought of being a part of this, she felt a measure of comfort in knowing she could be here with Hecate, in some way.

Hecate entered the room cautiously, her face lined with knowing. Her eyes landed on Ada, and the blonde swore that the tightness of Hecate’s shoulders lessened, just a fraction. Ada gave a small nod, silently assuring her that she wasn’t alone, that it would all be well, in the end.

“I won’t waste time with pleasantries,” the Great Wizard began, motioning for Hecate to come closer. “I am here to discuss the matter of your confinement.”

Hecate appreciated the directness, but she didn’t speak. She’d learned long ago not to open her mouth until she knew the full measure of the situation.

The Great Wizard didn’t seem to notice her silence. He continued, “Now, Miss Hardbroom, let me assure you that I am not my predecessor. In fact, I am working with a coalition to _lift_ the veil between the worlds of the magic and the nonmagic.”

Hecate was supposed to be impressed by that, she assumed. However, she kept quiet.

“Part of my transition as the new Great Wizard includes deciding which of my predecessor’s edicts I should uphold and which I should pardon,” he made a small, vague gesture towards her. Hecate felt her chest tighten. He added, “And I believe you have suffered long enough.”

Hecate merely blinked, her gaze sliding over to Ada again. Ada’s expression informed her that she was equally surprised by this statement.

Now the Great Wizard opened his hands in a magnanimous gesture, “Let us finally end this horrible curse, Hecate.”

She stiffened at the use of her first name—an intimacy that this man certainly had neither been given nor requested to use. Something in his tone had already been chafing her, the patronizing edge that rang false and seemed to jar against her ears. As if he were speaking to a dog, a creature that could easily be cajoled into obedience by a kindly tone of voice.

She looked at Alma this time, took in the tightness around her mouth, the clench of her right hand around her left wrist, the attempts to remain stoic.

They really believed that she would finally cave. They must have found out that she’d told Ada—she glanced over at her friend, whose expression was a mixture of pain and anger. No, Ada hadn’t gone back on her promise, that much she knew, that much she trusted. But Alma must have found out somehow, must have taken it as a sign of weakness, must have assumed it meant that Hecate was softening, that she could finally be swayed.

Finally, Hecate spoke, “And how, exactly, do you plan to end this horrible curse?”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on Ada, who ducked her head slightly. Now she could look back on her mother’s assumptions with amusement—how could Alma ever believe that Hecate Hardbroom, this woman of spite and spirit, would ever play the role of fluttering and fearful victim?

The Great Wizard blinked, as if shocked by the question. “Well, you would let us take care of the statue, of course.”

“Take care of it how?” Hecate demanded.

Another vague wave of his hand. Ada watched the way Hecate’s face hardened and she knew that there would be no holding back.

“You mean destroy it.” Hecate supplied for him—goddess above, the man didn’t even possess the courage to say aloud what he planned to do, but she’d do it for him. “And by destroy it, I mean take a _child_ and murder her—”

“I think you already took care of that part,” Alma spoke up, her words quick and cutting. Hecate jolted slightly, as if shocked by the accusation.

A beat passed as Hecate felt the anger roiling and bubbling in her veins. She clenched her fists together. It had been years since she’d been made this offer, and over that time, she’d replayed the scene, thinking of all the things she should have said, should have done.

But before she could speak, the Great Wizard calmly informed her, “I must admit, given your previous responses on the matter, I didn’t truly expect you to make the right choice—your attachment to this particular mistake has been quite…noteworthy.”

It took every ounce of self-control for Hecate not to absolutely snarl at his tone, at his words, at his entire existence.

Still, the dislike was quite visible in those burning eyes, in the rigid set of her shoulders and the way her fists clenched so tightly that they trembled. Ada feared her friend might combust on the spot.

The Great Wizard merely cocked his head to the side, as if viewing an oddity at a traveling tent show. “You cared very deeply for this nonmagical girl, didn’t you?”

Hecate’s anger quickly muted into something more fearful. Her stomach clenched and turned to stone. The Great Wizard was far too calm, far too quiet. She was the one in danger, she knew.

“I can decide to nullify the terms of your confinement,” he pointed out, voice as level as ever. “I could release you now, let the Headmistress dismiss you, as she undoubtedly sees fit.”

Hecate couldn’t hide the shock in her face—and the Great Wizard saw it, gave a knowing smirk of victory in response. He’d realized what his predecessor had not: Indigo was both her punishment and her Achilles’ heel. Again Hecate glanced over at Ada, who shook her head vehemently ( _I didn’t tell him anything, I swear, I would never_ ).

Hecate released her clenched fists, letting her fingers ripple and flex. She needed time to think, time to plan a retaliation.

“You certainly could,” Ada’s voice slipped over the silence, soft and comforting. Hecate looked over at her friend, unable to read the expression on the blonde’s face as she quietly continued, “But it would behoove you to remember that Miss Hardbroom is the only thing standing between our entire world and an overwhelming force that could destroy it entirely.”

Hecate’s entire body lit up with understanding.

“You have the spell to release her, do you not?” Ada looked back at Hecate. She already knew the answer. Just three days ago, as Ada had quietly watched Hecate clean off Indigo’s statue, Ada had mentioned that surely there was a reversal spell. Hecate had admitted that there was, but she could never allow it to be cast—the danger was too great, no matter how tempting it seemed. She would never let such destruction and chaos loose again.

But the Great Wizard didn’t know that.

Hecate stared at Ada for a beat longer, her face entirely impassive, except for the slight wave behind her eyes, the small flash of gratitude that only Ada saw. Then she returned her attention to the man seated before her, her face settling into a look of absolute determination, “Miss Cackle is quite right—I know the spell, and I am also the only one who knows where Indigo Moon rests. Release me, and I release her."

She saw the frown deepening in the lines of the Great Wizard's expression. His tone became as ominous as thunder, "You forget your place in this, Miss Hardbroom. _You_ are the one being confined."

The threat was unmistakable. But he was speaking to her with the proper respect now, Hecate noted. Ever one to pursue a winning strategy, Hecate added in a low tone, "You are right, Your Greatness. I am a witch deprived of all freedom. But perhaps you have forgotten my place as well. For as we all know, a witch without her liberty has nothing left to lose.”

It was a bluff, an absolute bluff, pure and simple. She saw the slight disbelief in the Great Wizard's eyes, but he seemed hesitant to voice this incredulity. 

However, Alma Cackle felt no such hesitation, "Hecate Hardbroom, you wouldn't _dare_."

"How much are you willing to risk on that assumption?" Ada asked sweetly, her tone as light as ever. With a slight shrug she added, "If any of us are left standing afterwards, perhaps we can discuss which of us truly put our world at danger."

The Great Wizard heard the exchange but didn't flinch. His eyes never left the young witch before him. He stared her down for a few beats longer. It took every ounce of Hecate's willpower to keep his gaze. 

Finally, he blinked. Hecate felt a measure of victory.

“It seems we have reached an impasse,” the Great Wizard stated, rather unnecessarily.

"So it seems," Hecate echoed, body still trembling with adrenaline. Ada could feel the burn of her mother's gaze on her skin, but she kept her eyes on Hecate. She felt a burst of pride at her friend's tenacity, at her absolute determination. Had she ever seen a braver thing?

The Great Wizard rose to his feet with a heavy sigh, “I shall never understand why you chose a path of such needless suffering, but it is evident that you are quite committed to wallowing in your folly.”

Ada felt a measure of disagreement—Hecate wasn’t suffering, she was _surviving_. She’d taken an awful situation and made it her own, on her own terms. That was worthy of admiration, not pity. But she realized that like her mother, the Great Wizard would never see it as anything other than childish petulance. She remembered a quote from one of her former professors: _Courage of conviction in women is often mistaken for insanity._

The Great Wizard exchanged a wordless glance with Alma Cackle. It was evident that he did not appreciate wasting his precious time on this pointless trip. Without further ado, he transferred away.

Alma scowled at Hecate, obviously displeased by this turn of events. She didn’t have to say anything—all the condemnations for years past still echoed in Hecate’s head. _Willful, spiteful, prideful child, as reckless as you are stupid, never a thought for anything or anyone but yourself_.

“Well,” Ada stepped forward, affecting a sunny air despite the nerves still jangling in her veins. “I think we’re all done here.”

She quietly walked around the desk and ushered Hecate into the hallway.

“Thank you,” Hecate whispered, once the door was shut behind them. Her hand went out to gently squeeze Ada’s, emphasizing her gratitude. She was shaking now, but there was still such relief radiating from every pore of her being.

“I had to do something,” Ada admitted. “After all, I’m the reason he came in the first place.”

Now Hecate turned fully to her, the question dancing in her eyes, the one that had first appeared when she'd walked into the office earlier.

“I didn’t confront Mother about it,” Ada assured her. “She just…she could tell. I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my feelings, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Hecate said gently. She looked as if she might smile.

Ada took the small unspoken forgiveness with a nod. “When Mother realized that you had told me, she must have thought it…meant something.”

“It did,” Hecate’s voice was barely a whisper. “It meant that I trusted you, as a friend.”

Ada looked up, her throat tightening as she asked, “And now?”

“And now I know that trust was well-founded,” Hecate smiled. Ada felt her own expression melting into a grin in response. Hecate ducked her head and moved forward, allowing Ada to quickly catch up to her as they continued down the hall. After a beat, Hecate wryly added, “Though I’m not sure it was entirely…prudent, to cast me in some kind of mutually assured destruction scenario against the Great Wizard.”

Ada gave a small laugh. “I didn’t have much time to come up with a different tactic.”

Hecate hummed in understanding. After another beat, she admitted, “I probably would have used the same line of defense, if I had been able to think of a response.”

They walked along in companionable silence, no destination in mind as they wound through the maze of hallways. Eventually they ended up outside, under the arched portico that faced the western side of the grounds.

“You know I would never do it, don’t you?” Hecate asked quietly, her gaze fixed on the woods beyond the castle. “I truly did learn my lesson, Ada. I know beyond all doubt that Indigo would destroy us all, with her magic.”

“I know,” Ada said simply. She was fairly certain that Hecate already knew this, too, but for some reason, the younger woman needed to say these things aloud, so Ada would let her. Still, she felt the need to quietly add, “And I hope that one day, you will truly learn to forgive yourself. And that you’ll know beyond all doubt that you aren’t whatever horrible things my mother or the Great Wizard might claim.”

She didn’t know exactly how Alma had handled it, in the beginning. But she’d been around for plenty of her mother’s tongue-lashings over the years, had easily recalled all the awful things Alma had said to Agatha—if she was capable of such vitriol towards her own daughter, heaven only knew what she would say to a student to whom she held no ties at all.

Hecate ducked her head, pressing her lips together tightly. She wondered what Alma had said, when she had found out that Ada knew the truth. What she had claimed, in order to convince Ada that Hecate deserved her punishment. Despite whatever was said, Ada was here, standing next to her, still her friend, still on her side.

“I do know, most of the time,” she felt the need to assure Ada. “I was young and I was foolish and—I made mistakes that children make. I see that, in the girls now. I see that I wasn’t any…more or less or whatever else than any of those girls, and it’s…a relief, I think. But I still have consequences to deal with, and I take comfort in knowing that I have done as much as I can to mitigate them. That’s the best that can be hoped for, in this situation. And I…take comfort in that.”

Ada nodded, giving a small noise of approval.

The bells in the tower tolled. Hecate’s expressive hands flicked down the line of her skirt, shoulders straightening again. Ada got the sense that the woman was stepping back into a suit of armor.

“Now, shall we have our tea in the lounge?” Hecate’s tone was light and conversational, as if the past hour hadn’t ever happened.

Ada merely turned and began making her way towards the lounge. Hecate fell into step beside her, heels clacking on the cobblestone.

“Might need something stronger than tea, after that ordeal,” Ada admitted dryly. Hecate gave a laugh—a sharp, hard bark of a thing, but it still made Ada smile in response.

“I suppose so,” Hecate mused. She opened the door with a flourish and let Ada slip in before her. They shared a quick smile and Hecate felt almost giddy.

It was such a simple, small shift, but she felt as if she’d won a great victory. For years, her confinement had been her own choice, but now it was _entirely_ hers—a weapon, a shield, a force to be used against those who had imposed it upon her. Her punishment was now her salvation.

She owed some of that to Ada. Her chest filled with warm gratitude as she resumed her pace, easily catching up to the blonde.

For the first time in such a long time, Hecate truly felt as if she had a best friend. A secret keeper. A comrade against the world. She was elated, and invincible.

She wasn’t sure how she’d ever repay Ada Cackle for her kindness, but she vowed that she’d spend the rest of life trying to do so.


	4. And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

By next summer, Ada wasn’t sure what to expect from Hecate Hardbroom, given how much had changed last year. Hecate still drifted, though not nearly as much. Ada gave her space and didn’t worry over her friend’s reticence, as she had in years past.

And this year, when Hecate did withdraw, she verbalized it.

“I just…need to be on my own, for a few days,” Hecate said during the final week of term, over their usual Friday tea.

“Of course,” Ada replied simply. She didn’t miss the way Hecate’s mouth curled into a small smile, silently grateful that Ada understood now. And she couldn’t deny the way warmth blossomed in her chest at the realization that she did understand now, truly.

Ada remembered the exact date that Hecate had taken her to the woods and revealed her secret, and that day she kept busy in her classroom, organizing and cleaning, with occasional glances out the window. She saw a strange wave in the sheaves of grass, far out in the field—it took her several minutes to work out that Hecate must have set an invisibility spell, so that Alma couldn’t see her or figure out where she went, where Indigo was.

 _Clever girl_ , Ada felt her lips curl into a grin of pride. She went back to her work and kept an eye on the clock.

Nearly three hours later, a light knock on her classroom door drew her attention. Hecate Hardbroom stood in the doorway, quietly serene.

“Tea time already?” Ada dusted her hands on her skirt.

Hecate merely smiled.

* * *

By the next year, Ada became headmistress. She quietly asked the question that had been on her mind for years now, and received the answer that she had expected for nearly as long:

_Hecate, would you like me to lift the spell now?_

_No, Ada, I—I don’t feel—it isn’t quite the right time._

Ada said she understood, and promised that she wouldn’t ask again. It would be up to Hecate to tell her when she was ready, if she ever was. Hecate nodded, offering another soft smile again.

Agatha, the newly-installed deputy headmistress, burst into the office and soon the quiet tea-time devolved into a rather spirited debate on the effectiveness of some new teaching method. Before she excused herself, Hecate gave one last smile and nod in Ada’s direction, a silent _thank you_ as she slipped out the door.

Hecate hadn’t been lying, when she said she didn’t feel as if the timing were right. Even with Ada as headmistress, even though she trusted Ada completely, even though she knew Ada would never dismiss her or try to destroy Indigo, she felt uneasy.

Her unease centered around the newest staff addition: Agatha Cackle. She tried to tell herself that it was petty jealousy taking hold, because Agatha and Ada were so close, and Ada had been her dearest friend for years now. She tried to tell herself that she was simply paranoid, ever-wary of outsiders.

But she couldn’t ignore the feeling curling in her gut, snaking through her veins with oily electricity. Something in the way Agatha spoke to Ada, the nearly-patronizing tone, the false syrupy-sweet sincerity. Despite being confined to a castle most of her life, Hecate Hardbroom had a pretty good read on human expression—and something about Agatha set off internal warning bells.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she wasn’t as good at reading people as she thought. Maybe it was jealousy, pure and simple.

Either way, the current environment seemed too unstable. Right now, she was safe. Protected. The second the spell was removed, all bets were off.

And if it meant that she was here, with Ada, until she chose not to be, well…that certainly wasn’t a deciding factor, but it didn’t hurt, either. Because even if she lost Ada’s friendship, she knew that Ada Cackle would always keep her word—they wouldn’t discuss the confinement again until Hecate brought it up.

Later that evening, as Agatha charmed the rest of the staff throughout dinner, Hecate kept a careful eye on Ada’s reactions. She watched Ada shrink, smaller and smaller, fading into the background of her own life. Hecate’s throat burned as her fingers clasped into helpless fists, unsure of how to stop the scene unfolding before her.

Hecate Hardbroom had spent over two-thirds of her life in this particular fishbowl, and she had learned its nuances quite well. She had watched silent power plays erupt and dissolve between staff, between Alma and others, countless times. This one had a subtle touch, but nonetheless she saw Agatha’s charm for what it was: a way to make allies, not friends.

Why the woman would need allies was beyond Hecate at the moment, but given what little she had seen of Agatha’s nature, the woman’s impulsiveness meant that she wouldn’t wait long to show her hand, whatever it was. Right now the majority of the table were leaning into Agatha, raptly listening to her hold court with her sharp smile and sparkling eyes. If anyone were to walk into the room right now, they’d swear Agatha was the headmistress, given the attention she currently commanded.

Ada was listening as well, but there was an air of hesitation. As if she knew which parts of Agatha’s story were false or embellished. Yet she still laughed at the humorous parts, still smiled at her sister with that gentle glowing kindness. And even when Agatha made an off-hand remark, badly disguised as a simple affectionate jest at her sister, Ada merely ducked her head and chuckled in agreement.

Hecate wanted to jump to her feet and demand an apology from Agatha, on Ada’s behalf. But she knew that Ada would be mortified, so she kept the words between her teeth. She stayed silent and seething, forcing herself to smile along. As false as it felt, it would have been what Ada wanted.

After dinner, she quietly shifted to her headmistress’ side. “A nightcap, perhaps?”

Ada looked up, as if snapping out of a haze. “Sounds lovely.”

Hecate stepped back, letting Ada join her as they walked through the quiet and low-lit halls.

Yes, Hecate decided. She was needed here, to protect Ada as much as Indigo. Agatha was not to be trusted, even if Hecate didn’t have a valid reason for her distrust yet.

Her decision was further solidified when not even six minutes later, Agatha had joined them without preamble or permission. Other instances might have been unintentional, but Hecate’s jealousy became justified at how easily Agatha maneuvered the situation—it wasn’t long before Hecate was quietly excusing herself from the headmistress’ office, fully certain that she’d been quite intentionally pushed out.

Agatha was trying to isolate Ada. While it could be seen as a protective gesture, Hecate’s intuition screamed it was the opposite.

She could be patient. Could wait to see what Agatha had up her sleeve. After all, Hecate Hardbroom had spent most of her life waiting. She had gotten quite good at it.

* * *

A few weeks later, Hecate answered a knock on her chamber door, only to find Agatha Cackle waiting for her, face set in a pitiful expression and body vibrating with a nearly-tangible energy.

“Oh, Hecate,” her expression deepened into an even more compassionate mask.

Hecate’s entire body convulsed in shock.

 _She knew_.

Hecate’s first instinct was to the slam the door, to shut out everything happening right now, to stop the avalanche she knew was coming for her. But her mind whispered _wait_.

So she did. She simply fixed Agatha with a blank stare, waiting for further information. She hadn’t missed the fact that Agatha, like the Great Wizard, had used her first name. Almost in the exact same tone. But she tamped down her ire at the lack of politesse and told herself that this was the thing she’d felt lurking at the corners of every interaction with Agatha Cackle: she didn’t know what it was, yet, but she knew that this was the moment of revelation.

Agatha’s voice, so like Ada’s, was soft and sweet and tinged with anxious regret, “I was going through all the warding spells—seeing which ones needed to be strengthened or removed entirely, just trying to ensure we were all quite safe—and I…I found one that is…most alarming.”

Her face was a picture of pained compassion, but something behind her eyes was too bright, too eager. Hecate felt her throat tighten in response.

“Hecate, I’m so sorry,” Agatha moved forward, lightly placing her hands on Hecate’s shoulders. “I had no idea—you poor, poor thing.”

Hecate ducked her head and stepped back, slipping out of the blonde’s grasp. She shifted slightly, mind racing as she tried to decide what to do, what to say. Agatha was expecting something from her, she knew that much.

“It…it was a long time ago,” Hecate chose the route of simplicity. “I’ve come to terms with it now.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Agatha was moving forward again, stepping across the threshold. Hecate’s entire body tensed with the feeling of _danger_. Agatha continued, her voice quickening with fervor, “You shouldn’t have been confined in the first place—your entire life, subjected to the whims of people who feared your greatness rather than celebrated it. You shouldn’t have to accept the edicts of a lesser mind, just because someone gave him a pointy hat and a staff.”

While Hecate couldn’t argue certain points (she’d known Egbert Hellibore long before he’d become Great Wizard, and lesser mind he certainly was), she still recoiled at the implications of Agatha’s words.

Agatha cocked her head to the side in gentle curiosity as she silkily added, “I honestly don’t understand why Ada didn’t release you, the first chance she got.”

Ah, there it was. Hecate suddenly understood this entire scene with blinding clarity—as well as the weeks of Agatha’s charming dinner conversations and subtle moves to isolate Ada from the rest of the staff.

Still, she tried to calm the panicked heavy beating of her heart, to speak around a fumbling tongue, “I—well—she’s just following the Great Wizard’s edict. It is—”

“It is abominable,” Agatha whispered in a low tone, voice thick with emotion. “A lifelong confinement? What on earth could have warranted such—”

“I cannot talk about it,” Hecate cut her off, knowing beyond all doubt that Agatha could never learn the reason, lest she use it against Hecate in some imaginatively cruel way.

Again, Agatha’s face crumpled into pained concern. She simply nodded, as if she understood that the emotional devastation was too much to divulge. Instead, she gently pressed, “We are meant to protect our sisters above all else—that is the Witches Code, is it not?”

Oddly enough, Hecate wanted to laugh in this moment—yes, Agatha had read her quite correctly, knew exactly which tactic to use in her arguments.

“And clearly this confinement, regardless of its origins, goes against the Code,” Agatha continued. “If I were headmistress, I wouldn’t hesitate to release you.”

Hecate’s gaze flicked back to Agatha’s like a magnet, the shock of those blue eyes rippling through her like pure electricity. Hecate knew the surprise was written clearly across her face—she’d sensed this was a potential path for this conversation, and yet hearing it spoken aloud was still scandalous.

 _If I were headmistress_. A promise, an invitation. Hecate’s stomach soured at the realization that Ada had invited her sister back into her life, unknowingly opening a door to betrayal.

 _Oh, Ada. How I had hoped I was wrong_. Hecate suddenly felt very, very tired. She wanted to cry. Of all the witches in the world, Ada Cackle was the last person who deserved this.

Agatha saw her sorrow and misread it. She shifted closer again, returning her hands to Hecate’s upper arms, thumbs lightly stroking the curve of Hecate's shoulders with gentle reassurance. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Hecate. I just—it angers me so, to see you so vilely mistreated. I hope you know that I will try my best to make this right.”

Hecate merely nodded, blinking back tears. She didn’t pull away from Agatha this time.

“The world doesn’t change, unless we change it,” Agatha said quietly. Her simple words were heavy in the silent room, sinking to the cold floor with expectancy. She leaned further in, “And we _will_ change it, Hecate.”

There was still an air of expectation. Agatha was waiting for something, some kind of sign from Hecate. Agreement, collusion, vindication—there was a balancing act here, but Hecate wasn’t exactly sure where the line was.

“How?” She asked cautiously, slowly raising one eyebrow. She was rewarded by a small flicker of a smile, at the corner of Agatha’s mouth.

_Oh, Ada. You are in danger._

* * *

It was easier for Hecate to keep her distance from Ada, knowing that in doing so, she was better placing herself in a position to help her friend, whenever Agatha decided to make her move. It took a few months, but her efforts were rewarded.

A series of unfortunate events unfolded, all centered around making Ada look incompetent. More than once, Agatha swooped in to save the day.

It was, surprisingly, Gwen Bat who came to Hecate one evening, with all the ammunition she needed to prove exactly what was happening. And Gwen Bat who held Agatha in conversation long enough for Hecate to have a moment alone with Ada to present this new information.

Ada didn’t want to believe it. Agatha was merely insecure; she was looking for a way to ingratiate herself to the rest of the staff, even to Ada herself. They didn’t outright argue, but Hecate left the headmistress’ office with a feeling of unease, angry at Agatha for creating this situation and frustrated at Ada for remaining willfully blind to it.

Summer half-term came around. For the first time, Hecate did not go to see Indigo. She felt paranoid, felt constantly watched, too fearful of Agatha somehow finding Indigo, further using it against her. She wouldn’t put it past the woman. And so far Agatha had proven every premonition right, which only furthered Hecate's resolve to listen to her gut on this one.

She had left out one detail, when listing Agatha’s attempts to manipulate everyone: she hadn’t told Ada that Agatha knew about Indigo, or that Agatha had promised her freedom as soon as she became headmistress. It had seemed too personal, too manipulative on her part—because Ada _had_ wanted to lift the confinement spell, and Hecate knew that it would hurt Ada too deeply, knowing she’d been cast as a villain by her own twin.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Agatha’s actions that ended her time at the academy, but rather her temper. Apparently her machinations were taking longer than planned or desired, and she finally left in a snit over some petty matter, breaking Ada’s heart in the process.

Despite the pain she felt at witnessing Ada’s anguish, Hecate breathed a sigh of relief and felt a measure of guilt in how much she relished having her weekly teas with Ada again, without Agatha’s interruptions or interference.

Ada asked her to step into the role of Deputy Headmistress, and Hecate overcame her shock to accept. Weekly teas turned into daily teas. For the first time in ten years, Ada noted that the approach of summer holidays did not make Hecate turn inward. If anything, she spent _more_ time with Ada.

By now, Ada had the date committed to memory. The night before, she invited Hecate to her office for a nightcap. They talked for a long time about their childhoods, about families and expectations and the weight of destiny, about new potion mixing methods and old chants that had been reinvented. Hecate was grateful for the distraction, for the way Ada kept talking to her, kept this unspoken vigil until Hecate herself decided to end it.

And the next day, when Hecate returned from her time with Indigo, Ada had tea waiting. She didn’t act as if it were any other day, didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions.

Hecate couldn’t control the warmth filling her chest. There was something steadfast and supportive about the thought that Ada was waiting for her, whenever she returned. Something lovely in the way that they used the time to reset the clock for another year, both understanding the importance of this little ritual without ever actually discussing it.

And this became part of Hecate’s ritual, too. To end the day in Ada’s presence. To walk back to the castle with the weighted certainty that Ada was there to welcome her back, whenever she was ready.

* * *

As the years progressed, Ada added little touches of comfort—it was always Hecate’s favorite tea and her preferred biscuits, sometimes with a small bouquet of lovely flowers from the garden. Hecate always noticed with a small, secret smile, and Ada always felt her heart clench at the sight.

And Hecate found her visits easier to make, every year. Some years were more emotional than others, but she took comfort in knowing she could break apart in the woods, and quietly take herself back home to let Ada’s gentle presence mend her. Some years were nearly completely devoid of sorrow, in which Hecate was able to remember Indigo with soft joy, despite the tragedy dancing at the fraying edges. And she would return again like some wandering knight from a long journey, heralded home with a smile and a cup of tea. There was comfort in those times, too. In knowing that Ada always trusted her to come back, that Ada never doubted her ability to come back, to heal herself, to find the strength to continue.

Sometimes, in the darker years, Hecate felt that perhaps it was Ada’s certainty that truly brought her back. That sometimes the strength in her bones didn’t come from within, but from the quiet conviction of a pink-clad blonde who seemed to bring hope to every corner of Hecate’s life, without any effort at all.

Over the years, Hecate realized that Ada inspired more than hope and friendship in her heart, but she kept that revelation to herself. She would not trap Ada into staying here, with her, with all the things that could never be.

After all of Agatha’s attempts to take over the school, Hecate had known for certain that she’d never allow herself to be unbound from the Academy. But if she were being completely honest with herself, she’d long forgotten how to separate the idea of Ada and the Academy, when it came to matters of loyalty and commitment and binding.

That was just another confession she could never make. And for the first time in decades, Hecate truly felt that her confinement had deprived her of something.

* * *

And then, it finally came. A summer without a spell upon her shoulders, without a statue to visit. A new set of regrets and failings to mourn. A new set of wrongs to make right, as best she could.

But Hecate didn’t want to dwell on the past anymore. She’d learned forgiveness, time and again, over the years. It wasn't always easy, but it was easier, and that had to count for something.

So she knocked lightly on the door to Ada’s office, heart in her throat as she affected a nonchalant tone.

“Would you join me for a walk?”

Ada felt a wash of nostalgia at that simple question—so close to the same one Hecate had asked her, all those years ago, the day Hecate had trusted her enough to reveal her secret.

“Of course,” she said simply, ducking her head and attempting to tamp down her smile as she gave the same answer as she had, all those years ago.

This time, she wasn’t surprised or confused when they walked past the gates and across the fields. This time, air was different, electric and light and almost too thin.

But then again, everything between them was different now. The past few years had required so much push and pull between them, so much shifting and reinvention. It seemed to accelerate, this year in particular—so much of the past and Hecate’s fears surrounding it had come rushing to the fore, and they’d confronted so much together, in ways they never had before. Now Indigo was free and the confinement was lifted and Hecate had chosen, truly chosen, to stay. Everything was changing, for the better.

They finally reached the edge of the wood. Hecate took a deep breath. Ada gently placed her hand on the small of her friend's back, silently reassuring her. Hecate merely smiled in thanks. With one last deep breath, she moved forward into the cool shadows of the forest.

Even without the statue to mark the spot, Hecate knew exactly where Indigo had once stood. She gingerly lowered herself to her knees, pushing back the leaves and twigs to reveal smooth, cool earth. With another small sigh, she sunk her fingers into the dirt, relishing the feel against her skin. She felt Ada behind her, shifting closer. She bent her head and concentrated on her task.

Ada watched in wonder as the earth rose and parted, a tree twisting and turning into existence as it grew, branches reaching out to bud and blossom. Within seconds, a cherry tree loomed over them, fluffy pink flowers blooming as if it were the first blush of spring and not the height of summer.

Ada didn’t have to point out that cherry trees were among her favorites, nor that the flowers were her favorite color. Because of course, Hecate already knew this. The blonde had the very distinct feeling that Hecate had chosen the tree for those exact reasons.

Hecate sat back, looking up at the tree before her. Quietly, she said, “I want to look ahead now. To…hope, again.”

Ada made a small noise of understanding. She moved forward, lowering herself to sit next to Hecate. She saw the way Hecate ducked her head slightly, the way the corners of her mouth curled into a small smile, and her own mouth responded with a smile of her own.

“That is a very good thing,” Ada assured her quietly, reaching out to squeeze Hecate’s hand, which was resting in her lap. This was probably the best thing to come from the turmoil of this past year—the way Ada was able to physically reassure her friend, the way Hecate let herself be held or touched sometimes, to simply receive affection and assurance.

Hecate’s other hand quickly stopped Ada from retreating, lightly resting atop Ada’s fingers. She looked down, frowning slightly as her fingertip traced over the ridges of Ada’s knuckles.

Ada felt time stop and reverse slightly, as if the world was spinning off its axis. Hecate looked up at her, eyes wide with curious hesitation, and Ada’s heart caught in her throat.

“I don’t want to forget,” she said simply, her dark eyes searching Ada’s expression, trying to make sure the woman understood. “It hasn’t always been good, I know, but—but for so long now, it’s always been…with you. And I can’t forget that. I don’t want to forget that.”

Ada nodded, unable to speak. Hecate shifted closer, only slightly, but the simple change turned the air between them into electricity.

“I want,” Hecate felt her lungs catch, pushed herself to continue despite the fear hammering in her chest. “I want to hope that you feel the same.”

“Of course I do,” Ada breathed, the words escaping before she could even truly consider them. She watched the fear dissolve from Hecate’s face and she couldn’t help but beam in response.

Hecate found herself smiling, too, skin trilling with delight and relief. Of course she’d seen the signs, particularly over the past year, had seen how much Ada cared—but she’d feared that some of it was her own imagination, the delusions of a love-starved mind, an attempt to find some kind of distraction, some kind of port in the storm of her life.

Ada gently pulled away from Hecate’s grasp, lightly reaching up to cup the brunette’s face with both hands. She sat up slightly, tilting Hecate’s head closer so that she could place a single kiss between her brows.

She felt rather than heard Hecate’s little sigh of happiness and the way the woman’s frame melted slightly at the contact. She pulled Hecate in further, into a long embrace. Hecate shifted her whole body closer, letting her head rest on Ada’s shoulder.

For the first time in a very long time, she let herself cry for the little girl who was lost here, all those years ago. Then she cried in joy for the thing that had been born here, so many years later.

* * *

The first shadows of evening were seeping into the trees, and the pleasant coolness slowly became a deeper chill. Hecate rose to her feet, offering a hand to help Ada up as well.

“Tea in my office?” Ada suggested with a light smile.

“Sounds lovely,” Hecate agreed.

Ada took a moment to look back up at the tree, smiling at how fitting it seemed, that Hecate would take a place of trauma and leave something beautiful in its stead. That she would find a way to continue an anniversary, but replace its meaning with something sweeter, something kinder, something stronger. That she could build a monument to her own tenacity, her own will to overcome, her own ability to forgive what she could never forget.

Hecate was watching her with a gentle smile, slightly confused by Ada’s actions. Ada merely pulled Hecate closer, into a kiss. _There_ , another good memory to leave at this place.

“Thank you,” Ada said simply, once they parted for air.

“Hmm?” Hecate was still in a haze, still processing the feel of Ada’s lips against her own.

“For being you,” Ada clarified with another syrupy-warm smile. Hecate dipped her head forward slightly, and even in the deepening twilight, Ada could see the blush searing her cheeks.

“Come,” Hecate took a step back, offering her hand to Ada again. With one last wistful look towards the tree, she said, “I think we’ve been here long enough.”

Ada merely nodded in agreement, taking Hecate’s hand. Her veins sparkled with happiness at the realization that Hecate wasn’t referring solely to their physical location. _It is time to move forward. Finally, finally time._

They transferred away and a breeze tumbled through the woods, cherry blossoms lifting and flurrying in response, floating through the maze of trees with airy grace.

The cherry tree itself waited, like the two hearts who had witnessed its creation, in quiet expectation of all the things to come.


End file.
